


Broken Oath

by kremissius



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 15:43:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4485255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kremissius/pseuds/kremissius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This is not how it was supposed to end", Alistair thinks. But now they both have scars that won't heal and a lifetime to live without the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Oath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write this for the longest time. What if Alistair becomes king and the Warden decides not to be his mistress? What about their life without each other through the years? /BETA
> 
> This chapter is just a preview, I'd say, covering what happens before the Battle of Denerim.

  **I. KERES**

 

It’s done. The bad words are still buzzing in her head, and eyes closed, she tries to ease her breath. Quickly, the beating of her heart slows down, as she let her eyes wander across the room.

It’s easier than she thought, keeping her focus, not letting emotions affect her –that’s all she ever knew. That’s how she was designed, cold heart and liquid iron in her vein, a wolf made of a woman, never tamed. For months, she tried to forget that truth, wrapped into Alistair’s arms, but she can’t run away from it any longer, and that certitude gives her strength.

She looks at the fireplace, where the flames lazily consume the logs, and her dog comes to lick her face. Keres smiles poorly, puts a hand in the warm brown coat of Dumat.

That evening, a lot of things were said between Alistair and her. Strong words, more cutting than knifes, the ones that leave scars that don’t heal easily, and stay years after the fight. She can still see his face, the wounded expression on it, and the anger that made him leave his office. She can still hear the sound of the door as it slammed, and his voice screaming “Why?” in the most harrowing tone.

 

She will remember it all, how the story ended for the Hero of Ferelden and the King. It will haunt her at night, it will give her the rage to throw herself in battle, it will remind her of who she really is; a warrior of stone and steel, a beast belonging to the wilderness. All these things that make her true form so changing; too elusive to bear the King’s love.

 _It was the right thing to do_ , the mage thinks, her head buried in her dog’s fur, so focused on not weeping that she becomes a cold, mute thing, nearly living –a ghost. She is so silent, she might disappear soon. But she knows it will pass, she already feel her heart hardening.

Love was never a thing for mages.

Keres learnt that so young. She saw the pain it caused firsthand, her mama sobbing on the streets while she was taken away from her. She saw it at the Tower too, the apprentices breaking their heart again and again, fixing it with hope every time, and the mages who would get pregnant and cry and curse when their children were taken far from them at birth.

 _Love is not a thing for mages_ , she told herself while arranging the wedding between Anora and Alistair, and promising not to be a shame for the royal couple, and crushing her heart in the process.

But that was not as hard as she thought, confronting her ex lover. Keres was used to this, the screams, the anger of men. In the Circle, it was her everyday life, the templars and the mages calling her a slut when she got bored of them and didn’t let them open her legs.

She just had to pretend he was anyone. She just had to close herself to his affection, and assassinate every memory of him she used to keep so close.

_I won’t be called a whore. Not this time. I am my own, I am free_. She will not hear the nobles whispering, she won’t be a hidden, shameful thing that Alistair would use whenever he feels desire. And she is definitely not gonna make Anora, that strong, beautiful woman, cry waiting for a proper husband. Alistair will be that wonderful, loving husband, in time. The royal couple doesn’t know it yet, but for her, who knows the son of Maric so well, it’s as clear as water. They will be loved, and oh, they  _will_ love.

 _This is the right thing to do_ , Keres mutters, her fists so tightly clenched that her nails sink into her skin.

Tonight, sleeping is a welcome oblivion.

  


**II. ALISTAIR**

He doesn’t punch the walls. He doesn’t scream, or cry. His head is about to explode, and his heart is taking all the space in his chest, growing and growing, fed with all the tears he doesn’t shed.

He needs air. It’s raining, but he doesn’t care —it’s appropriate, actually. He runs off the castle, and he feels deeply everything, the drops soaking his face, the darkness of the night, this immense pain that gets larger with each passing second, threatening to overwhelm him. And the question that comes back every time he tries to chase it, why?

He feels stupid for even believing he could have chained her. He feels betrayed when he thinks about her smile, and the way she was bending and whispering his name, her green bright eyes floating over his skin and her lips tracing the most beautiful patterns.

And he bleeds because she said “I love you” and it was supposed to mean something.

 

All these months of fighting at her side, and the presents and the kisses and the making love under the stars, and now it tastes of ashes in his mouth. It’s a bitter and odd taste; but he can’t say it’s not something he never experienced.

 _She said it was better this way._ And he doesn’t understand. Them, this was the only right thing. Them, comforting each other, and facing together what would come, whatever it would be. This is what love means right? Being here, standing for the other, and having the right to spend every moment of your life with them.

This is a nightmare. It feels like that one time in the Fade, the smile of Goldanna disappearing with everything he ever wanted, turning into this monster. Maybe he is dreaming, maybe it was not Keres. Just a demon tempting him in his sleep, nothing more. But this time, there is no-one to tell Alistair to wake up. And the pain in his chest is real, more real and true and terrible than any wound he ever had in battle or elsewhere.

He wishes he had someone to blame, but he closes his eyes and see her face and deep down he knows he can’t blame her for that; it’s too recent yet. And maybe it’s his fault after all, whispers the little boy in his head. He shouldn’t have accepted to be king. He shouldn’t have listened to Arl Aemon.

 

The rain is cold but his body is colder. It’s silent out there, and once again, the boy who was left in the corner is alone.

 

Alistair looks at the horizon, and he feels the weight of being king on his shoulder for the first time in all its intensity. Loneliness embraces him more surely than the woman he loves, and this irony makes him laugh.

 

_I’ve never felt more empty._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, well, I posted this to see if people would be interested in such a story. For now it isn't really fleshed out but I have the whole thing in mind, so....yeah..... Hope you still enjoyed this preview of what is on the way :)


End file.
